Wednesday early morning

The morning sun is pale and grey, promising a quiet, overcast day. Chad is already up, dressed in a crisp button-down, feeling a rare sense of vigor after last night. He actually leans over and kisses Cherie’s forehead—a quick, dry peck—before heading downstairs.

Cherie bolts upright the moment the door clicks shut. She doesn't look tired; she looks possessed. She ignores her phone, ignores her robe, and grabs the notebook she keeps in her nightstand drawer.

She begins to write. Her pen flies across the paper, capturing the "breakthrough" she had in the night. She’s giggling to herself, a soft, breathless sound.

"It's perfect," she mutters, her eyes scanning her own frantic handwriting. "Tyler’s story... it's actually a goldmine. Chad will think I’m just being 'supportive' of the family's imagination."

She writes a description of the ghost's hands—hands that felt remarkably real in her dream. Hands that felt exactly like the ones that caught her milk glass and made her a cup of coffee.

Downstairs, Chad is in the kitchen, looking at the perfectly clean counters and the hum of the finished dishwasher. He looks at the "Order" and nods to himself, convinced that his firm hand has finally set the house right.

Tyler is still in his room, his door locked. The "Great Recode" is taking shape. Kenzie and Chloe head out to the backyard, reliving yesterdays activities.